Category: Liberal Minded Editorial Commentary

We’re Not Going Back

“There is nothing which I dread so much as a division of the republic into two great parties, each arranged under its leader, and concerting measures in opposition to each other. This, in my humble apprehension, is to be dreaded as the greatest political evil under our Constitution.” ~ John Adams

Banana seat, baby!
Back in time to me riding my bright, banana seat bike in Buffalo

Well, it’s been a day. At 5 pm last night, I turned the tv on to watch election coverage. By 5:15 I was so anxious I consumed a gummy so I could calm down. Round about time the electoral map started loading up with red states, I took a second gummy, turned off the tv, and went to sleep. I woke up at 4:30 and checked the results. I’ve been awake ever since.

I spent most of the day in a fog. Just numb. I wandered around. My logical brain kicked in, and I began running through things I might want to do before Inauguration Day. Maybe check to make sure I’m up to date on all the vaccines I want to have on board before an anti-vaxxer takes over the Department of Health and Human Services. Delete some social media accounts. Make a plan for maintaining my mental and physical health over the next few years. Cut back on spending because things are going to get more expensive once the tariffs are put in place. You know, just a basic list to convince myself everything is going to be fine. It’s just a new business as usual.

Then I progressed to rationalization. Yes. There is plenty in Project 2025 about which I need to be aware, if not concerned. My husband is a government employee who could lose his job and his pension. I have pre-existing health conditions that might not be covered if we are forced to shop for new insurance and the Affordable Care Act has been tossed out. I take medications that may not be available in a Trump presidency. Other than few those things, though, I’m downright fortunate compared to many. We’re a white family with two sons who are finishing college. We’re financially secure. We have no family members who might be deported. We do have concerns for the gay and lesbian people in our lives, along with the trans humans we love, but we live in a solidly blue state with protections in place, at least until the federal government creates new laws superseding our oh-so-important “state’s rights.” Overall, we are in a safe-ish place with regard to the wishes of the incoming administration. We can use our privilege to fight for those who are less fortunate than us over the next four (forty?) years. It will be okay, right?

Then tonight grief smacked me in the face hard, and the tears came. As I sat on the floor and wept, my pups crawled into my lap, which just made me cry harder for the love. When the tears stopped, always questioning, I tried to pinpoint why I had finally broken down, and this is where I landed. I grew up believing in the promise of America, a patchwork quilt of unique souls who, when combined, made a stronger whole. I loved this vision for us. I knew we had problems. I was not blind to them. Rather, I chose to look away from them and instead naively believed we would overcome them someday. And I kept feeling maybe we were inching closer to that day. Lured by a glorious vision of a biracial woman in power, I kept imagining that promise of America was nearly in our grasp. It wasn’t. I had been captured in a blue bubble, unconvinced of how differently many others were viewing the same country I was living in. Many people here don’t want a woman in power, heaven forbid a brown one. Many people do not feel that is progress. Now I fear that our opportunity to ever reach that promise I was promised has slipped away. It was probably a mirage to begin with, some whitewashed idea of a shining city on a hill that we never really were and likely never could have become with our history anyway.

I’m still processing my grief while 51% of American voters celebrate their win and make self-righteous statements about putting politics aside and being friends now. I’m not there, folks. I’m just not. Half of you didn’t like what the other half of us were happy with for the past four years, and you made no attempt to hide it, whinging about all the “woke” policies. Now the tables are reversed, and we’re not all that excited about what you’ve got planned and I don’t think we’re going to change our minds about it either, just as you didn’t. The only hope for us is to meet in the middle somewhere, someday. Maybe in four years we will know where that middle is. Maybe the left will have become more humble through our losses and perhaps the right will have discovered some of the anti-woke policies you wanted weren’t as golden as you expected. Maybe then we will all be a little more centered and willing to compromise.

If in four years we find ourselves a bit dissatisfied with the future we’ve created and a bit anxious to make some changes, let’s hope we still have the opportunity to hold another free and fair election. I’d hate to think our rallying cry, “We’re not going back,” was actually a prophecy.

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Eat The Rich

Yesterday morning, I happened upon a story about Mark Zuckerberg. I am not a fan of Zuckerberg on the best of days. I use Facebook only to share my Wordle score with a friend group and to relay my blog posts to my friends who use the site. I go back and forth on whether the platform has any redeeming value, most of the time erring on the side that says we’d probably be happier humans if it had never come into existence. At any rate, the story I saw reported that Mark Zuckerberg had a 7-foot-tall statue of his wife created. It linked to the Instagram post where Mark revealed his exorbitant gesture of love.

It’s difficult to encapsulate the ways this post bothered me, but I am going to try. First, there’s the casual fashion in which Zuckerberg attempts to make commissioning a statue of his wife into some relatable gesture by posting it to Instagram. Because, of course, the average Insta user is going to see the post and think, “Wow. What a thoughtful, loving husband.” (Insert vigorous eye roll here.) Second, Zuckerberg has zero concept that invoking a tradition associated with the elite Roman class might be ill advised at a time when many feel our own democracy is falling like Rome itself fell. And how tone deaf is it to brag cavalierly about a statue you’ve had created in honor of your wife at a time when people are struggling to afford gas, groceries, and housing? Not certain we needed the cogent reminder of wealth disparity in our country. I think the majority of us are well aware of it, thank you very much.

As an upper middle class, white woman in suburbia, I have my fair share of privilege. For our anniversary this year, my husband sent me a floral arrangement with 29 long-stemmed red roses, and I posted about it on Instagram because, while he regularly brings me flowers, he has rarely sent them to me. He did it this year only because we were apart on our anniversary for only the second time in nearly three decades. I do know the funds it took to purchase the roses could have provided a week’s worth of groceries to a small family. I get it. I’m no monument to justice, and I can understand how someone might feel the same way about those roses that I felt when I saw that statue. But if 29 long-stemmed roses could provide a week’s worth of groceries for a struggling family, how many families could the money used for that statue of Priscilla provide? Some will argue he earned his wealth and should be able to do with it as he sees fit. And, honestly, I don’t begrudge him the luxury of being able to fund such a grand gesture as much as I find it unhinged to assume posting about it on social media would make him look like a good guy. What could he have been thinking? With so many barely scraping by right now, it felt a little, well, “Let them eat cake”-ish.

Though the whole display left a sour taste in my mouth, I’m empathetic enough to understand Mark has perhaps lost some grasp on reality with the attainment of his prodigious wealth. There are roughly 800 billionaires in the United States, and approximately 85% of them are white men. Imagine the mental disconnect that must accompany being one of 800 people who collectively hold nearly 4% of US wealth while the bottom half of Americans, approximately 167 million, hold only 2.5% of the nation’s wealth. Possessing the financial resources to buy 1,400 acres of ancestral land on Kauai for the purpose of establishing a family compound complete multiple houses, treehouses, and a 5,000 square foot underground bunker might make one more than a bit removed from reality. This is the American dream, though, isn’t it? The notion that hard work can lead to a life of ease and luxury? This is precisely what capitalism promotes.

I have to wonder, though, at what point the other 332,999,200 of us will decide we’ve had enough of this shit. Are we even capable of becoming appalled rather than fascinated by this nation’s billionaires? Where do we draw the line with wealth and decide too few possess too much? Or is it simply part of the destiny of a free, capitalist society to escort us to where we are? Will the gross display of billionaire excess ever tip us towards a revolution away from capitalism? Will we prove the musings of Jean Jacques Rousseau correct, that “when the people run out of adequate sustenance, they will eat the rich”? If we do get to that point, I’m gonna guess the native Hawaiians might be the first to climb the six foot wall around Zuckerberg’s compound and approach him with a fork.

(Editor’s note: I am, in no way, promoting cannibalism. I just found Rousseau’s statement to be food for thought.)

Posted on by Me 1

Clever Girl

Pale_Blue_Dot
That tiny dot about halfway down in the center of the brown line is Earth as seen from deep space by Voyager 1. Feel small yet? 

“That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there – on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam…

…To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”

– Carl Sagan

I have a deep and abiding respect for those, like Carl Sagan, who are able to see beyond themselves and understand the precarious nature of life on this blue orb that affords us our existence. Some of my favorite images were captured by the Hubble telescope, an instrument with value that can’t be calculated in the billions of dollars it has taken to create and maintain it. Through its lens, we measly creatures are barely able to scratch the surface of the vastness of the universe. Sit for a while with a Hubble image of a galaxy cluster and allow its magnitude to envelop you. When life hands me an epic smackdown, I view photos from the telescope to put things in my life back into perspective. All the stress we feel in our tiny lives and all the weight we give ourselves is lost in those images. We are nothing. We are less than nothing with regard to what we have been able to discern of the universe, yet what we do on this minuscule speck of cosmic dust means everything to our survival.

President Trump’s decision to withdraw from the Paris climate accord, while disappointing and disastrous on many levels, is not surprising. Small minds yield small thinking. As full-disclosure of the president’s decision penetrated the news world yesterday, I discussed it with our teenage sons. There is nothing more important to me than teaching my sons their place in this world and their responsibility to it as educated, white males of privilege. I encourage my kids to be forward thinkers and solution seekers. There is no room for a future in a world where we live in the past. As I was lamenting the damage done by climate-change deniers and our unwillingness to make personal changes to save this planet, my oldest said this:

“The planet doesn’t care what we do. We will all die off and the earth will go on without us. The earth has suffered far worse than what we are doing to it now and it is still here.”

Dozens of hours spent voluntarily absorbing science-based programming on his iPad has given my son a realistic understanding of life’s precariousness here. We place so much importance on our impact on this planet, and for good reason, but our impact on this planet only matters insomuch as pertains to the existence of life on it. We don’t matter at all to this space particle that transports us around our star. If all humans suddenly ceased to exist, in as little as 25 years, three-fourths of paved roads would be covered by vegetation. In just three hundred years, man-made metal structures like the towers “great men” build and emblazon with their glowing, gold names would crumble and disappear. And after 10,000 years, only stone structures like Mt Rushmore and the Great Pyramids would be left to offer proof that we ever existed. We don’t matter to the earth. It does not give a shit if we cease to be.

We are erasable. For all the movies we’ve made and books we’ve written about alien populations wiping out our existence, we are our greatest threat. We know this, which is why we write stories about escaping the damage we leave behind. If we continue to barrel along, turning a blind eye to our impact on the air, water, and land we rely on for survival, then we will die off. We will have earned that fate with our ignorance and intransigence. Someday, perhaps a future population will refer to us the way we now refer to the dinosaurs, as sad, ancient relics incapable of stopping their own extinction, doomed to disappear. The difference is that the dinosaurs will have lived 159 million year longer than our species and have done so without sentient brains in their reptilian heads. Clever girl, indeed.

Posted on by Me 7

Roar — The Dragon Mother Has Awoken

fullsizerender
Look at that mane. You just know I can roar.

I am not okay today. I’m not. Yesterday morning I was excited. I was powerful and bold and, dare I say, optimistic for once against my more skeptical nature. Today I am sad, and it’s not that garden variety of sad where you can’t put your finger on it. It’s not general melancholy. It’s in-your-face, raw, jagged, emotional pain. It’s pathetic, disconsolate, achy-breaky heart sickness. This country, which I was starting to imagine was leaning towards becoming more inclusive and welcoming and more like our forefathers envisioned and Lady Liberty professes, pulled my heart out of my closed chest last night with some crazy nunchuck moves and then used it as a target for AK-47 practice rounds. So I am not okay today. I am struggling, and I know I am not alone.

I am not okay today because of who I am and not because of what happened yesterday. I am a woman. A well-educated, well-read, white, straight, upper middle class, clearly privileged woman, to be sure, but a woman nonetheless. I am a mother. I am what my detractors would term a “bleeding heart” liberal. I am an agnostic. I am a feminist. I am a friend to gays and lesbians, people of all faiths, and all colors. I labor to keep an open mind and I search daily for our common values so I can remain open hearted and accepting. It is hard work, but I do it ceaselessly, remaining friends with people I don’t agree with in the hope that I learn more about them and their views and grow in understanding. For a while, I had tricked myself into believing that I was part of a majority and that, as a collective, we would triumph, love over hate, stronger together, all the while going high. It didn’t happen.

An election is an election. It is politics as usual. So, at 48, the election of someone I did not vote for is not something with which I am unfamiliar. I was deeply troubled in 2000 when Al Gore lost the presidency. I worked in the renewable energy industry. Jobs were lost. I’m familiar with disappointment, but this is different. For me, this is a personal loss. I can put aside politics. I can trust that the next administration will do their best. I can be a good US citizen and play nicely with others when my candidate loses. This loss was not about politics for me. It was about sexism, racism, xenophobia, and hate. And when those are your stakes, when you are not simply voting democrat versus republican, a loss is devastating. Today I am poignantly aware that I am in the minority. I am on the outside. To many, I am an unwelcome aberration, at best an anomaly and at worst a nuisance. But if you think for one second that I am going to go quietly, to shut up, stay out of things, and let hatred and ignorance rule, you don’t know me very well. And you don’t understand Pantsuit Nation at all. I’m a middle aged woman with time, money, and pussy-grabs-back attitude. I’m not going quietly.

This is my challenge and my charge. I have only one choice and that is to rise from the heap of those left disenfranchised and make my voice heard. My privileged white sons are about to witness something powerful. Their dragon mother has awoken. First thing this morning, I set up a monthly donation to Planned Parenthood, the first place that opened its doors for me when I was a young college student without insurance looking for well-woman care. Planned Parenthood saved me from a sexually transmitted disease that was on its way to becoming cervical cancer. Because of that, I have long stood with them for the health of all women, women like me who needed some help when nothing else was accessible. As women before me suffered for causes like the right to vote, I will gladly step up, with my money, my voice, and my body to keep the doors of Planned Parenthood open. It’s imperative. Whatever it takes. Don’t even think you can stop me.

When I was younger and an important relationship would end, I would pull out every song that reminded me of the person I’d lost and play them over and over until I was reduced to a tearless, dehydrated, emotionless lump of flesh. Today I thought about playing Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” and just having a good cry. Instead, I found Katy Perry. Today I am giving myself permission and space to mourn. Tomorrow I roar.

Posted on by Me 8

What’s So Funny About Peace, Love, And Understanding

The current political climate in this country is making me nauseous. The amount of venom flowing from both sides of the political spectrum is unnerving at best and unpatriotic at worst. I believe in the two party system. I like the way the differences balance each other out. I think our forefathers created something great here. But, somewhere in the recent past, we came to a point where there is no longer a capacity to agree to disagree and to find common ground despite our disputes. Somewhere along the line, we became unable to view compromise as a viable option. Truth is, though, that is how our government was designed to work. If we can’t reach across party lines, then the balance our forefathers sought is impossible and everything is out of whack.

I’ve been thinking about this a great deal lately as the presidential election nears because of things I’m hearing my children say. Our boys attend a fairly homogenous school where they are at a distinct disadvantage. It would be a safe assessment to admit that roughly 98% of the parents at my boys’ school will be voting the same way during this next election. And, yes, our household is in the 2% who will likely vote the other way. Our boys, smart kids that they are, realize that they are in the minority. They hear what their classmates are saying about the election and they are honestly afraid to join the conversation because they don’t want to admit that our household is different. They are afraid to be ostracized. Joe, specifically, has mentioned hateful things his classmates have said regarding political candidates. I know they’re just kids repeating their parents’ views, but that is what frightens me. We’re passing on this culture of narrow-mindedness to the next generation. I’m afraid it will never end.

Growing up, I knew what my parents political beliefs were. I knew that Ronald Reagan made my mom nervous and that my dad was not too impressed with Jimmy Carter. Through my parents’ political differences, I came to accept the discourse between the two parties as part and parcel of a democratic society. I was never afraid to express my views. I grew up willing to stand up for what I believed or at least being willing to talk about it. My boys are too fearful to do the same. I wish they felt it was worth it to state their opinions, but it’s not. They’re growing up in a country where differences are problematic and where compromise is considered weakness.

If I had one great Miss America wish for this country, it’s that I wish we could throw off intolerance and hatred. Someone who disagrees with us is not an enemy. At the end of the day, we all want the same things. We want a better life for our children, a stable and safe country to live in, the right to live within our own belief system, all wrapped up in peace and prosperity. Just because we don’t see eye to eye doesn’t mean we should perpetuate an environment of hatred. I’m trying to teach my children that tolerance is important, and you can’t do that with words alone. You have to live it. When Christ said, “love thy neighbor,” He meant it…and not simply when it’s convenient or when they share your world view. How do we teach our children to play nicely if we can’t?

Posted on by Me 7

I Never Wanted To Teach, But I Won’t Pass Up A Teaching Moment

On this isolated beach in the Galapagos, we found hundreds of fragments of plastic. Sad, but a perfect teaching moment.

I spend a lot of time in the car with my kids. It’s one of my favorite ways to connect with them because they’re a captive audience. Tonight’s topic of conversation was the state of the planet. What can I say? Sometimes we talk about what’s better — Thor’s hammer or Captain America’s shield? Sometimes we talk about potential flooding from eventual global warming. It all evens out. Tonight’s topic started with a plastic bottle of water in the car.

“Remember when we were in Ecuador and we couldn’t drink water from the tap in that nice hotel?” Joe asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Why was that?”

“Well, it was because the water that comes from the tap there isn’t as clean as the water that comes from the tap in our house,” I replied.

“Do the Ecuadorians drink their own tap water?” he continued.

“I would guess some do. I would guess many others buy bottled water because it’s safer for drinking,” I said, recalling an article I recently read in the New York Times, which stated that residents of Mexico City spend as much as 10% of their income on five-gallon bottles of drinking water because they don’t trust the city’s water supply.

“Do you realize,” I continued, “how lucky we are to have such a clean, safe, continuous supply of water delivered to our home day in and day out? Do you remember when we were watching The Amazing Race and the racers were in Tanzania and they saw all those people on line in town to fill up their water bottles for the day? That’s how it is for many people in this world. Not everyone has the luxury of turning on the tap and getting fresh water. Many of them have to go fetch it and bring it home, if they can get it at all,” I told them.

“I would hate it if we had to carry water home just to take a shower,” Joe said.

“I would too. You realize that when we shower, we’re using the same clean, safe water we have to drink, right?”

“We’re showering in our drinking water?” Joe said incredulously.

“Sure. It’s the same water for drinking, bathing, washing dishes, and watering our lawn,” I told him.

“That’s stupid,” Joe said. “We should use other water for showering and watering the grass and save the good water for drinking,” he said.

Yes! End scene. That’s exactly the thought I was hoping he would get to. At least he showed some glimmer of recognition that safe drinking water is a precious commodity. Will that stop him from taking his 15 minute shower tomorrow morning? Well, that remains to be seen. But, at least it’s in his head now.

These teaching moments with my boys are sacred to me. I appreciate when I’m handed the opportunity to remind them how lucky we are and how precious our planet is. When possible, I try to steer our car conversations so they become thought provoking ones. I regularly tell Joe and Luke that they need to be thinking about creating alternative energy sources, cleaning up the gyres in the ocean, and finding new means of getting people clean water because, unfortunately, we still need solutions to the problems that generations before theirs have created and perpetuated yet have not been able to fix. I remind them that they’re the future of the planet.

I won’t lie. I’ve also told them that there will be oodles of money for the inventors, scientists, and business people who come up with and market the solutions to these problems. I like to keep them motivated. Even if my smart kids aren’t the ones who will solve the world’s problems someday, I hope that talking to them now about these things might just make them more planet-responsible adults. And, heaven knows, this planet could use more of those. Maybe I’ve been watching too many socially pointed animated features, but I really don’t want to end up like the critters in the waterless town of Dirt in Rango…dancing in the town center and singing an old Hank Williams tune about “cool, clear water.”

 

Posted on by Me 9

A Better Life

Our incredibly fortunate American family on a fjord in Norway in 2009.

Today, while ironing of course, I watched a film I’ve wanted to see ever since the lead actor was nominated for an Academy Award this past winter. I’d never heard of it until the nominations came out, but when a quiet film finds its way into the hearts of the Academy voters I usually pay attention. The movie is called A Better Life. The story revolves around a father, who happens to be a Mexican illegal living and working in the U.S., and his 14 year old son who is a U.S. citizen. The son edges closer and closer to the East LA gang scene and his father worries about him. It is an honest story about a hard-working man whose only desire in life is to give his son a better life than he has had, hence the title.

I loved the movie because it made me think. It forced me to face some of my own prejudices and misconceptions. I can’t tell you where exactly I stand on the issue of illegal immigration because, being a grey person not prone to black and white absolutism, I’m not sure. I can clearly see and understand both sides of the issue. We have laws in this country about citizenship, and I do see the importance of upholding them. On the other hand, though, both sets of my great grandparents came here from Poland on a boat circa 1917, landed at Ellis Island speaking no English, and were able to give their own children a better life than the one they had. I wouldn’t be here if the United States hadn’t let them in nearly 100 years ago.

As Americans, it’s too easy to forget how blessed we are. We may talk about how proud we are of our nation, but most of us have done nothing to earn our citizenship other than to have been born here. Let’s face it. We didn’t have a say in that matter anyway. When you think about how most people on this planet live, we are unbelievably fortunate by virtue of dumb luck. So, it’s fairly easy to sit on our lofty hill and tell others that we’re all full up at the inn. After all, we’re here and our kids will have the benefit of education and health care, so what do we care?

What today’s Ironing Matinee reminded me is that when we talk about “illegals” we’re conveniently labeling others in a way that helps us to forget they’re human beings. As “illegals,” they’re not people, families, fathers, mothers, children. They’re criminals, burdens, statistics, scourges. It’s our apathy about these immigrants’ humanity that troubles me. If you get a chance, watch A Better Life. No matter where you stand on the issue of illegal immigration, it might give you some insight into how hard life is for our neighbors south of the border and how hard it is for them still while they’re living here illegally trying to do the best they can for their families. It might remind you that at our core we’re all the same. We want what is best for our children, and that notion can’t be contained by laws or even by borders.

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Soapbox Alert: Mind Your Own Business

This afternoon we had to stop by the local Safeway to pick up a few last minute ingredients for tonight’s dinner. After we’d made our purchases, we went out to our car. It was 91 degrees here at 3 p.m. in Steamboat, so we rolled down the windows on the FJ, loaded ourselves and our purchases in our car, and cranked the air conditioning. Hubby put the car into reverse and just as we were about to back out of our parking spot, a gentleman in his mid-50s walked by the front of our car and yelled at us to turn it off. Presumably, he thought we were hanging out in our car with the engine idling, wasting gas and destroying the ozone layer. Clearly he had not seen us enter the vehicle not one minute before. Because he was at the front of our car, he was obviously not aware that our reverse lights were on. He did not know that we share his concern for the environment and that hubby parks his car at the light rail station so he can take public transportation into work in Denver five days a week. He simply judged us in our idling SUV without knowing what was going on.

I thought about this interaction for a couple hours after it happened. I was annoyed. I didn’t in the least like this man’s insinuation that we are planet wreckers. We recycle. We use cloth bags at the grocery store more often than not. We try to conserve water and energy. For heaven’s sake…we’ve been sleeping in the basement for weeks now because it allows us to keep our air conditioning set to 80 degrees all day. We may not be the most environmentally friendly family in America, but we do try. The more I reflected on it, though, the more I realized that what bothered me about this man’s comment was the fact that he thought he should comment in the first place. Who had died and made him the boss of how much time I’m allowed in my car before I drive off with my groceries?

I’m beginning to believe the basic problem with most Americans today is that we’ve lost the idea that individual freedoms apply to all individuals. Now, I am not currently a gun owner nor have I ever owned a gun. But, I do believe that all Americans are entitled to their rights, whether or not I agree with them. I would never go up to a gun owner (and, trust me, I know a lot of them) and tell them that their Second Amendment right to bear arms is wrong. It’s not my thing, but it doesn’t have to be. Just as they’re free to own a gun, I’m free not to. Even after the murders in the movie theater in my home state today, I still won’t speak out against gun ownership. It’s not my thing, but I don’t believe for one minute that removing gun ownership rights would have stopped this tragedy. Deranged individuals will find a way to harm others, legal gun rights or not.

I wish people would be a bit more tolerant and accepting of other people’s rights to live life their own way. If you don’t agree with how they’re living, fine. Keep it to yourself. If you’re not in favor of gay marriage, don’t marry a same sex partner. If you’re opposed to abortion, don’t have one. If you’re anti-gun, don’t carry one. If you’re not fond of fur, don’t throw paint on someone else’s coat. It doesn’t matter if you think someone is wrong or misguided for the things they think. You don’t have to agree with them. You just have to accept that they deserve the same common decency that you do, the freedom to live their life according to their own ideas.

We spend too much time playing judge and jury over the lives of others when what other people do is honestly none of our business. If we Americans would focus on our own lives, our own families, our own choices, and our own bodies, we’d probably get along a lot better. If we understood that our way might not be the only or best way, we might be able to solve some of the bigger problems in this country. Instead of yelling at someone because you believe they’re wrong, choose to be quiet. Accept that you don’t necessarily know what is best for someone else and mind your own business.

Posted on by Me 4

Sell Crazy Some Place Else

My write-in candidate

It’s 10:30 now, and I am finally sitting down with a few free minutes to do my blog post of the day. The reason for my late start tonight is that a crazy loon hijacked my free time this evening. I’d go into greater detail about this loon, but the loon is a family member and obviously there’s enough trouble in my family already without my blogging about it.

So, instead, I will offer just this little tidbit. I have been thinking lately about the upcoming presidential election. This is a big deal for me because, as a rule, I try not to pay too much attention to politics. Honestly, it just gives me a headache. It seems we take one step forward and then two steps back and we go nowhere. Nothing really changes. And, during an election year, people get all riled up about something that four years from now will reoccur in some sort of Groundhog Day scenario. I’d rather eat ice cream in the park and not think about it.

But, today, I was reading happily along on the Internet when I found an article about a candidate I could perhaps get behind in the next election. This candidate has been the mayor of Talkeetna, Alaska, for fifteen years. His name is Mayor Stubbs. I’m not surprised if you haven’t heard of him. You see, Mayor Stubbs is a cat. Fifteen years ago, when he was just a kitten, he was put on the mayoral ballot as a write-in candidate; and because this is Alaska, where apparently anyone can become mayor, he won. So far, Mayor Stubbs has done a wonderful job increasing tourism. He’s well-liked and folks in the small town feel he’s one of the best mayors they’ve ever had. No one seems to care that he’s missing his tail. It hasn’t affected his ability to perform his job. And, no one’s bothered him about his birth certificate either.

I think the fine residents of Talkeetna might just be onto something. Since Mayor Stubbs took office, there have been no scandals or mismanagement of funds. About the worst thing Mayor Stubbs can be accused of is taking a bit of the old catnip every afternoon at 4 p.m. Still, the town seems no worse for the wear under his leadership. I think he may have a better current record than either of the front runners in the next presidential election can claim. And, let’s face it, Mayor Tubbs comes cheap. I think we could afford a catnip stipend and perhaps balance the budget. If one of our allies needs to be won over, a purring cat might be the man for the job. If one of our enemies is acting like a wascally wabbit, Mayor Stubbs could claw their eyes out. It’s just crazy enough to work.

Okay. Okay. This is all a bit silly. You’re indulging me, and I deeply appreciate it. It is late. But, you know what? Mayor Stubbs made me smile today, and it’s been a while since any political figure has made me do that. Besides, with the evening I’ve had, I needed a good smile. In a country where our motto could easily be “Sell crazy some place else…we’re all stocked up here” (Jack Nicholson, As Good As It Gets), electing a cat might just offer the kind of radical change people seem to be looking for.

Posted on by Me 5

Lonesome George: The Rebel Tortoise With A Cause

A page of the itinerary for our upcoming trip to the Galapagos Islands. The page lists a stop on Santa Cruz to see Lonesome George, the tortoise that is sadly no longer on our itinerary.

I’m in a bit of a mourning period. I haven’t been wearing black or weeping uncontrollably, so perhaps you haven’t noticed my sadness. Still, it persists. Two weeks ago, on June 24th, the world lost its last remaining Pinta Island Giant Tortoise, whose moniker was Lonesome George. I came to know George (we were on a first-name, no-descriptors-needed basis) last year when I started research for our upcoming trip to the Galapagos Islands. George’s kind had been pushed to extinction by humans who hunted them as if they were an inexhaustible resource. Surprising, I know. I was looking forward to meeting him in person. But, in his typical, stubborn, I’m-the-last-of-my-kind-so-don’t-push-me way, he would not wait for me or my family.

When the report of George’s passing came across my iPhone news feed, I uttered an audible sigh of disappointment. Joe, ever observant, asked me what was wrong.

“Lonesome George died,” I told him.

“You’re joking,” he replied, assuming as we all do that any tortoise that could live to 100 would certainly live to 101 so we could meet him.

“Why would I joke about something like that?” I told him. I showed him the story and we sat and read it together, disheartened.

George was the rarest creature on Earth, which made him uncomfortable. He was removed from his native island to the Charles Darwin Research Station on Santa Cruz island, where he was photographed, studied, and manually “stimulated” by humans in an attempt to get him to mate. (Leave it to humans to push something to the point of extinction and then force it to have sex while we watch so we can ease our consciences.) George would not comply. I liked that about him. I’ll admit it’s a bit anthropomorphic on my part, but I like to believe George would not produce offspring on command not because he couldn’t but because he simply chose not to. He knew we wanted to right our wrong of ostensibly exterminating his species. He preferred that we suffer for our crime.

I’ve always liked tortoises. They’re slow, they’re tough, and they just keep plodding along. There’s something incredibly profound about their way of persevering on this fast-paced, crazy planet. I mourn not because I won’t get to see the rarest creature on earth, but because he is no longer a creature on this earth. If we take anything from George’s life, I hope we stop at least briefly to consider how fragile life is. Some creatures, as exhibited through Darwin’s theory of natural selection, do become extinct. This is part of life on this planet. More creatures, however, become extinct because we humans decimate their habitats and carelessly destroy them. I know many people believe God gave us this planet for our use. I prefer to believe God entrusted us with the sacred duty to steward and protect this unique and incredible rock and all her creatures. We did not protect the Pinta Island Giant Tortoise or the Dodo or the Tasmanian Tiger and now they are gone. So, I’m sorry that I won’t get to meet George, but I’m mourning because there will never be another tortoise like him.

 

 

Posted on by Me 2